Captured
by purrina57
Summary: The beautiful and young Clarissa is snatched away from her beloved nature and dragged down into the sunless depths of the Underworld where she finds herself a pawn in an age-old rivalry between two powerful men, one her father and one the mysterious and dark lord that's captured her. Greek Mythology take on Clary/Jace, Hades-and-Persephone style.
1. Prologue

**Hey! Oh my gosh. Y'all are gonna give up on me, aren't y'all? I would have. A long time ago. Because I suck. And I can't stay focused. I'm pretty sure I have Writer's ADD. Is that a thing? It is for me.**

**So new story. (Don't worry, Half Truths, Chaos, and Exchange of Power will all still keep rolling).**

**I've always been fascinated by Greek Mythology. Especially Hades and Persephone. I think the things I really dig are Demeter and Persephone's bond and Persephone's change from innocent, kind of happy-go-lucky girl to badass ruler of the Underworld. I mean, I'm a sucker for a character development story, one that goes from weak to strong. **

**Anyway, so I got to thinking and I thought... Hm. Jace and Clary could work for that. So here we are. This is just the Prologue. I wanna see what you guys think before going on too far. Jace will obviously stand in for Hades and Clary for Persephone. Instead of gods, they will be called Nephilim. Valentine is Zeus. Jocelyn is Demeter. You get the drift.**

**Even if you don't know much about Greek Mythology (which I sure as heck don't either), this shouldn't be hard to follow. And also, I'm going to put my own spin on things. Everyone's reasoning will be different than the actual story goes.**

**Clary won't be "weak" at the beginning, FYI. She'll be the fiery Clary we all know and love. Jace, however, will be the most unusual, I think, as he's going to be more subdued. He is presiding over the dead, after all. How much spunk can he have?**

**Anyway, enjoy please! Let me know what you think! (:**

* * *

**PROLOGUE**

"Do you miss the sun, Isabelle?" Jace inquires dully, staring up at the ceiling, a faint look on his pale face.

Isabelle watches him as he sits on his throne, his discontentment oozing from him like a black cloud, poisoning all that is around him. She says, carefully, "I do not remember the sun, so how could I miss it?"

"I remember the sun," he murmurs, blinking once, but his gaze never wavers from the dark ceiling so high and far above. "Faintly. Vaguely."

"Perhaps you should take a trip the surface, then, my lord," Isabelle suggests, stretching on her divan. She holds her slim white fingers above her, inspecting her black nails curiously.

Jace's sigh is as familiar to her as her own heartbeat. "The surface only depresses me."

"Everything depresses you," Isabelle blurts before she catches her blunder. Quickly, she sits up, and her blood runs even colder when she sees his glare falling upon her face. "But rightly so, my lord."

Then Jace's fury drains away as quickly as it came and he sinks down into his throne, his pretty face cold and thousands of years away.

He has been like this as long as Isabelle has been his servant. She has heard the stories of his old splendor. His beauty rivaled the sun's. His hair shone brightly, perfect golden waves and curls, and his skin was honey, and his eyes were coins. His inner fire burned brightly, like that of a star's, but also like a star, he was doomed to burn out.

And now he had, Isabelle thought sadly. He was still the most beautiful creature she had ever laid her eyes upon, even with his muted tones, his faded-painting coloring. It was as if his fire burned too brightly, so brightly that it must be extinguished, and now it had.

By Valentine.

Isabelle sighs, envious of those who knew him as a young man, a golden man, full of life.

Jace suddenly sits up, ever so slightly, but Isabelle catches the shift.

"My lord?" she inquires but her question is answered by Alec, who runs into the room breathlessly, his face ever-so animated.

"My lord," he murmurs before bowing to Jace.

"What is it?" Jace snaps.

"I have just gotten news you might find interesting, my lord," Alec says quickly, his black hair disheveled.

"Then what _is it_, Alec?" Jace asks with a resounding current of irritation bubbling beneath.

Alec's sapphire blue eyes dance to his sister, Isabelle, for a brief moment, and she sees the revelations in them. And somehow, she knows. She knows Alec's news will forever change their destiny. She knows it, feels it in the strange prickle she gets down her spine, and Jace must feel it too, for he sits up even straighter, and this terrifies Isabelle more than anything.

Alec says, quietly, "Valentine has had a child. A daughter."

* * *

**Short and sweet, as a prologue should be. Not that I'm saying my work is sweet! It's just an expression! Anyway, let me know what y'all think please. Chapter 1 will be up tomorrow, I believe. Oh, and FYI, Chapter 1 will start 16 years later (so Clary won't be a baby and get kidnapped by Jace because that would be weird). Yes, Jace is around 2 thousand years older than her, but ages don't matter in these kinds of stories, at least not to me. Anyway, hope everyone has a good night/day!**


	2. CHAPTER ONE: The Beginning

**Y'all are so sweet! Thank y'all for the encouragement so far! I'm so excited! Okay, so this chapter took longer than I wanted. It was just not coming together. I deleted so much and started over again like four times. But I didn't give up! Just for y'all!**

**Anyway, I'm not going to say much (TOO LATE, right?), but y'all just ask me questions if something doesn't make sense, if relationships are confusing. It all should be a bit confusing right now, though, don't worry.**

**Anyway, enjoy! (:**

* * *

**CHAPTER ONE: The Beginning**

**Sixteen Years Later**

The young girl drifts through the halls of her sun-bathed palace slowly, her spring green dress billowing behind her, her bare feet pressing into the cool golden tiles gently. She goes everywhere with a small smile on her face Alec notices. As if she is eternally happy and carries the sun with her wherever she may go.

Alec smirks a bit in the shadows.

Jace will absolutely love her optimism, Alec thinks with just a bit too much amusement.

He watches the girl with the fiery, beautiful-wild red curls move through the palace, and he can't help but admire her. She is as striking as her mother, with her feline green eyes and her curves lurking beneath the gauzy fabric of her dress. She walks with a subtle grace and rhythm, as if each step is part of a dance.

She pauses at the old nurse that's helped Jocelyn raise the girl, and Alec spies as Clarissa laughs brightly with the haggard woman, as if she isn't Nephilim and the woman isn't a mere mundane.

Alec sighs. These Nephilim that consort with mundanes as if they are equal disgust him. But he's noticed throughout the years that Clarissa treats everyone the same, all except her mother, for whom she has a special place in her heart for.

He's watched this girl for years, waiting for the perfect time to strike, but she is impossibly never alone. Or at least, never far enough from her palace that Jocelyn's magic does not protect her.

Jocelyn, Alec thinks with a sigh. The woman is insane with the idea of keeping her daughter safe and pure from the other Nephilim and mundanes that fawn over Clarissa's beauty.

He doesn't understand the incredible fuss over purity, himself. It seems such a strange thing to protect. Everyone looses their purity, with time, even if they never even lie down with another. It is simply the nature of things. Life corrupts even the most brightly burning star, the whitest rose. Why bother pushing off the inevitable? Instead, shouldn't you relish in it, if only to protect yourself?

Become the darkness willingly and save yourself the pain. Become stronger.

That is what Alec has done.

He sighs and shifts against the tree he leans on. He is hidden in the shadow and dark magic of the forest, safe from Jocelyn's prying eyes, but he is not safe from the boredom that threatens to eat away his mind.

Sixteen years of watching the girl, on and off, and he knows everything about her. He knows she loves her mother more than anyone. He knows she is kind but holds an inner fire that keeps her from being completely boring—and keeps Jocelyn happy, and he knows there is a building, rising wildness within her, waiting to burst forth.

She is like the summer. Bright and sunny and beautiful, but chaotic, quick to storms that shake the earth, quick to change.

Alec sighs again and settles himself in for a long night of watching. He won't rest until he finds the young girl alone. And eventually, she will wander too far. And he will be there, waiting.

* * *

"Mother, really, I'm far too old for a birthday celebration," Clary sighs, dipping her toes into the glimmering blue bathing pool. The air has cooled with night, and a shivering breeze brushes through the courtyard, into Jocelyn's quarters, blowing her mother's elegant curls around her divine face.

Jocelyn exhales impatiently, pushing the hair back, before applying more kohl around her feline green eyes. "No one is to old to be told their worth, darling."

"Perhaps I should throw a celebration in your honor, then," Clary says with a tiny smile.

Jocelyn gives her a look and a wry smile. "If you do so, I fear I will be forced to turn you into a rabbit—just for a day or two."

"A rabbit? You would be going easy on me, then," Clary murmurs with a smile and crouches down by the side of the pool. She strokes her fingers through the silky surface and brings a water lily closer. It is wilting, the creamy petals wrinkled. Frowning, Clary passes her hand over it, watching as a soft pink light explodes gently within in, leaving the flower renewed. "Remember that time you turned Simon into a rat?"

"He is sweet for a mundane, but he must be the most annoying creature on the planet. I had to take a moment to collect myself without his incessant chatter."

Clary smiles fondling, sending the lily back into the middle of the pool where it joins the others. "That was my thirteenth birthday celebration. I wonder what you will turn him into this year."

"I was thinking along the lines of a mole. Your thoughts?"

"Staying in the rodent family? I know you're more creative than that, Mother."

"Very well. A platypus."

"Hm. I shall take it under consideration." Clary sits carefully on the edge of the pool and puts her legs in the sun-warmed waters that are just now beginning to cool in the silvery light of the moon. She leans back on her hands and looks up at the breathlessly clear starry sky that winks and glitters its delight. "I really do not wish for a party, Mother."

"I know you do not naturally prefer attention being brought to you, dear. But it will be fun. Trust me." Jocelyn winks at her daughter.

And Clary simply smiles. "I do. I always have."

* * *

"She is your daughter," Jocelyn yells, glaring furiously at Valentine, whom sits on his golden throne with arrogance oozing from his every pore.

"I realize this, Jocelyn. And I am proud of her. But I cannot come to the celebration. There are other matters that need my attention."

"Matters that are more important than your only daughter?" Jocelyn asks hotly.

At this, the king stirs and the man disappears further into a mask of regal fury. Valentine sits straighter in his throne, glaring down at Jocelyn, as if she is beneath him. "Do not presume to think I value anything above my family, Jocelyn. Clarissa is of the upmost importance to me. But unfortunately, matters of life and death await me tomorrow."

Jocelyn scowls, her beautiful face twisting. "If it were Sebastian, you would be singing a different tune," she hisses, turning on her heel, marching towards the temple doors.

But she is frozen in place by Valentine's furious spit of her name.

"How dare you talk to me in such a manner?" he growls.

Jocelyn spins to face him again, her hair flying around her stunning face that has not aged a day since Valentine first saw her, first fell in love with her. "You grow offended because I speak the truth? I am not your servant, Valentine, and I will speak to you how I wish—"

Jocelyn's words break off as he stands violently, bolts of golden fire erupting around him, making her jump despite herself.

"I am your king," he mutters coldly, stepping down with deliberate slowness from his throne, towards her. "And Clarissa is immortal, Jocelyn—she will have many birthdays, as will Sebastian. I have not attended all of his celebrations, either, though I need not explain myself to you."

"Yet you do." Jocelyn's eyes narrow with a tenaciousness Valentine admires. "I did not ask for your explanation—nor do I care for it. I merely wanted to state the very obvious gap in attention you show our daughter and your son—the son who continually throws himself at his half sister, despite my most severe warnings."

"I love my children equally," Valentine snaps. "It is only that Sebastian is here, in Alicante, with me. You insisted Clary be raised with you on earth, in Idris."

"I would not have her be raised in this den of sin—where she would see her father dally with whatever women throw themselves his way, where her love for you would forever be tainted by your repulsive displays of affection towards other women—who are not your wife."

"I thought we were speaking of Clary's celebration, not my marriage," Valentine says coolly, his face going impassive and maddening.

Jocelyn blows out a fiery breath. "I believe our conversation was done, anyway. Thank you, my precious king, for even allowing such a lowly Nephilim an audience with you." She bows mockingly, and before Valentine can decide to destroy her or kiss her, she is gone, leaving the air tainted with her fury, leaving him to sigh after her.

* * *

"Where are you going?" Simon demands, appearing from the thick white columns of the open palace and running towards Clary.

The early morning sun is soft and sweet, barely peeing up at them and coloring the sky gentle blue and gold, striking Clary's hair on fire as she drifts past Simon, smiling faintly.

"Fear not. I will be back by the time the celebration occurs."

"B-but. Where are you going, milady?" Simon inquires quietly, loping to her side.

The halls are tall and empty, peaceful, but Clary knows of a place more peaceful still, and she smiles at Simon. "To the field. I believe I will pick myself a flower crown before the party. Alone." She arches a playful brow at him, and he ducks his head bashfully, grinning good-naturedly.

"But, milady, without your mother here the magic protecting the field is—"

"My mother is very protective, Simon, for no reason, as far as I can tell. I will be fine. I won't even venture close to the woods. I promise." Clary lifts her skirt and steps out of the main palace hall, into the front courtyard, heading for the golden gates that secure them tightly into their own paradise.

But while the palace holds certain glamor and splendor, its glitzy gold and encrusted jewels are too much for Clary. She much prefers the solace of nature, with the whisper of leaves and grass, the soulful songs of the birds, the sweetness of flowers in the air.

It is there, surrounded by open plains, that she feels Heaven. That she feels Free.

"If you believe you will be safe, milady," Simon murmurs worriedly.

Clary pauses at the towering gates, turns to her friend as they begin opening, and she smiles, a smile that makes her nearly identical to her mother. Simon wonders if, when Clary stops aging, she will look like a perfect copy of Jocelyn.

"I believe it whole-heatedly." Clary winks at him and graces him with another stunning smile, like the sun peeking between the trees, and in her soft and gentle voice, as she moves for the gate, she says, "Don't fret, Simon. All will be well. It always is."

And he watches as she goes, turning and drifting away from him, like the summer wind, uncatchable and warm and fleeting.

* * *

The sky is heavenly blue and endless above head, and the air is billowy and warm, moving the tall and wavering grass gracefully, scattered white, small flowers into the air like confetti.

Clary rolls her eyes at Simon's protectiveness. He is almost as paranoid as her own mother. Looking around this peaceful field, her palms grazing the tops of the grass gently as she meanders, she can't ever see anything of danger bothering her here.

Even Sebastian could not tread here. It was too beautiful. Surely it would shame him into hiding.

Clary's nose crinkles at the thought of her half brother, whose affections have grown more possessive and utterly annoying each day. He truly disgusts her. His arrogance makes her skin crawl and worse still is his twisted mindset that allows him to think of Clary as his and his alone—through their blood bond. As if he has some kind of claim on her, because of their father.

She rolls her eyes despite herself.

She would love nothing more than to have her mother's talents and turn him into a pig—or something equally disgusting.

The thought fills her with relish as she skips through the field, towards the tree where the fragrant jasmine grows. She plucks a few of the heavenly-sweet white flowers and begins making her crown.

She goes through the field slowly, humming to herself softly, enjoying the peace and solitude of the day before she is forced to the celebration.

Carefully, Clary crouches by the stream, washing dirt from her hands, savoring the icy waters. And then she feels the wind shift, a strange current running through it.

Frowning, she glances up at the sky, marveling at its darkness, the thick cover of angry gray and dirty blue clouds that have suddenly descended upon the sunny field.

The wind howls mournfully now, pulling at her hair violently, drawing the warmth from her body and leaving her to shiver as she stands.

It is like a summer storm, violent and abrupt, and Clary shivers again, this time in excitement, for she loves nothing more than a summer storm, rain pelting down and thunder shaking the ground, reminding everyone that Mother Nature most always remains Queen.

But this is no summer storm.

* * *

"Jocelyn! Jocelyn, dammit!"

Jocelyn walks as quickly as she can through the heavenly temples, refusing to turn at Valentine's bidding. It is only until he catches her and grabs her arm that she has no choice but to look at him once more, a scowl on her face.

"Let me go," she says. "I must arrive back at Idris before it grows any later. Clary's party will be soon—"

"Jocelyn, you must understand," Valentine begins, slowly pulling his old lover into the shadows of the columns, away from prying eyes. "You must understand that Maryse does not approve of my relations with you—nor the product of those relations."

"Our relations," Jocelyn snaps, the word a snarl, "are nonexistent now. And I don't very much blame Maryse for her reservations. But I did think you were king, capable to make your own decisions." Jocelyn ignores the flare of lightening fury in his eyes and goes on. "That is merely an excuse. A pitiful one at that."

Valentine's mouth opens, rage ready to rain down upon the woman, when Michael appears suddenly, a strangely frantic look on the man's normally calm face.

"Your majesty, I have urgent news," Michael whispers, his sun-eyes wide.

Valentine and Jocelyn both pause in their own heated battle to turn towards the all-seeing Nephilim.

"What is it?" Valentine asks carefully.

Michael wets his lips, his face growing weary, sending a strike of fear into Jocelyn's heart. "I'm afraid there has been some stirrings in the Downworld."

"Alec and Magnus's stirrings? I hardly doubt this. Those two are always causing trouble," Valentine dismisses, already turning back to Jocelyn.

But Michael breaks in once more. "No, your majesty. It is…it is Jace. He has risen to the surface."

Valentine's attention snaps back to the golden man, his face hard. "Where? Where has he surfaced?"

Michael's eyes dance to Jocelyn, sending her into an icy spiral of panic. "Idris, your majesty."

* * *

**Let me know what y'all think! Jace and Clary meet next chapter! (;**


	3. CHAPTER TWO: The River of Souls

**Hey, y'all! So I'm totally pysched by all the feedback so far! Y'all are the best...EVER! I'm responding to all reviews and messages shortly. I'm sorry I haven't done so earlier. My bunny is actually very sick, and it might sound silly but I'd appreciate it if y'all kept him in your prayers.**

**Anyway, I had on reviewer raise good points, points that I shall address.**

**Are Jocelyn, Valentine, and Jace siblings as Demeter, Zeus, and Hades were? No. Not in my story. That just adds a lot of extra, weird bonds that I don't wanna get into. Maryse DOES stand in for Hera, as one reviewer also mentioned. Alec and Isabelle are not Maryse's children in this story, however. Alec stands in for Hermes (which is going to make him out of character, sorry, and he also won't be Valentine's son, as Hermes was Zeus's son). Isabelle stands in for Hecate, just because I like the idea of Isabelle being powerful in witchcraft-y things (but other than that, I know nothing about Hecate, so excuse any mistakes I make). I mentioned she was a servant of Jace in the Prologue, but I'm changing that to being more of an ally. Michael stands in for Helios.**

**Anyway, on to relationships. Maryse and Valentine are, indeed, married. Valentine had an affair with Jocelyn, which resulted, obviously, in Clary. Alec and Isabelle are brother and sister, but Maryse is NOT their mother, as I mentioned earlier. Celine will stand in for Jace's mother, although you won't meet her until later on. Hm... I think that's it. Oh, wait! Sebastian is Maryse and Valentine's son, half-brother of Clary, who also has a thing for her. **

**Okay. I think that's all for now. But y'all let me know if anything doesn't make sense because this is a lot for me to keep up with. Call me out if I make an error! **

* * *

**CHAPTER TWO: The River of Souls**

There's a boy, standing in the field.

Clary blinks once and he's suddenly there, standing in the distance, a wavering, shadowy figure. And she blinks again and he's before her, impossibly close, and she gasps, skipping backwards, away from him.

He is shockingly beautiful, she notes, with a sharp, angular, strong-boned face that still holds a hint of appealing boyishness while his body is leanly muscled and broad shouldered and a bit thin, draped in a scratchy looking white tunic and colorless pants. The angry wind ruffles his muted golden curls, and she stares at him helplessly.

Something is odd about the boy. Something is hidden, carefully hidden, by a strange sort of façade that hovers over him delicately, ready to give way, and Clary squints her eyes, as if she can perhaps see through the screen to whatever lurks beneath.

He seems so pale. So faded. As if all color has long since been drained from his body.

Even his wide eyes are like dim suns in his sockets.

Sad. He's sad. Clary can see it, even with the air of polite indifference surrounding him.

"Hello," he says, his voice as lovely as his face, gentle but rough with misuse. "I didn't mean to frighten you."

"Who are you?" Clary asks, her eyes narrowing slightly.

"Someone who is lost. Can you help me?" he whispers, taking a step forward. Something in his eyes sparks, shifts, and Clary watches as they swirl and warm, like a fire slowly being lit within them, and soon they glow, brightly gold, like two winking coins, like honey, like the brilliance of the sun on a clear day.

Clary has stopped stepping backwards, to match his approach, and he grows closer to her, so close he could almost touch her.

"I believe I took a wrong turn," he hums, and his voice is like a lullaby in Clary's ears, making her shiver in delight, freezing her in her place. "And I thought perhaps you could set me on the right path once more."

"I…I can…I can try," Clary says, her speech slow, her mind growing so muddled she does not even think to fear the languidness rushing through her body.

The boy extends his arm, his hand large and warm looking to her now. His hair is soft gold, shimmering in the sunshine that has reappeared, and his skin is smooth and pretty and golden tan. Clary wonders how she ever thought he was pale. He isn't pale. He isn't muted. He is brilliant. So brilliant it almost burns her eyes.

Her lips part as she reaches out, ready to touch his hand, to see if he is as warm as he looks, but something stabs violently at the back of her mind, a desperate cry, a warning that she can hardly hear.

She notices the boy's eyes flicker to something over her shoulder, and then everything wavers. His face grows dim again and the sky grows furious and the boy scowls at something, and Clary watches in distant horror at the darkness that lurks in his eyes, beneath his thin veil.

She is frightened.

"CLARY!"

Clary jerks at the sound of her name, rising further to the surface of her dream, ready to break back into reality, but the boy's eyes snap back to hers and turn golden bright once more.

He graces her with the smallest, most timid of smiles. "Please," he begs, extending his hand further, asking her to grab it, his eyes wide and innocent and pained.

And she suddenly can't remember why she hadn't already.

So she reaches out again.

"Clary, no!" someone screams, but the voice is trembling and dull, like a shout underwater.

But Clary hesitates ever so slightly.

The boy's face twists in something menacing, but it is gone before Clary can be alarmed and his brows pull together. He sways forward, his body seeming to grow heavy, and he says, tiredly, "Please help me."

"Clary, don't touch him!"

But the voice is already too faint, and now, she reaches out simply and feels her hand fall into his.

But it is not warm.

It is cold. Icy cold. So cold she feels the jolt of it all through her arm, and the sunny world drains away sharply, coming into clear focus once more, and Clary gasps as the boy jerks her forward savagely, spinning her, holding her back to his chest, where unnatural cold radiates from him, pulling at the heat of her body.

Clary sees her mother, sees her father, too, both of them running through the field, identical looks of panic on their beautiful faces, and Clary opens her mouth, horrified, ready to scream, but then she feels the boy's cheek press almost tenderly against hers.

He smiles for Jocelyn and Valentine, the look victoriously evil, his mask falling away, exposing his darkness, the pale color of death on his flesh, in his hair, in his eyes, and he rasps, the voice carrying on the wind to Clary's parents' ears, "She's mine now."

Clary feels the hot prick of tears in her eyes.

And Jocelyn screams, the sound a piercing howl, mingling with Valentine's cry of rage, and then, before they can reach their daughter, darkness pours from the sky, the clouds wrapping around her and her captor like a cocoon.

Thunder rumbles in the sky, making the earth move, and then the dark clouds are gone, along with Clary, along with Jace, along with every trace of their existence.

The sky is bright and blue once more, the air thick and warm.

And Jocelyn keeps running, to the exact spot where her daughter just stood, and she collapses, moaning in agony, her tears falling to the earth.

Valentine holds back and watches as the sky shifts once more, turning mournful orange and bruised yellow. He watches as the land melts before his eyes, the grass falling to dust, carried away by the screaming wind, the trees dropping their leaves, the flowers wilting.

Wind howls once more through the air and carries with it the helpless sobs of Jocelyn to all of those who listen.

And the world goes dark and dead with loss.

* * *

"Let me go!" Clary screams, throwing her legs off the ground, kicking at the air as the icy cold arm tightens around her waist, refusing to drop her. "Let _go_!"

"Shut up," is the dull reply, right at her ear, a burst of frigid air.

Clary moves through the darkened, damp cave against her will, being carried like an uncooperative child in the black and dense shadow. She can hardly see anything, but she hears the soft hum of water, feels the dank humidity in the air. Is she underground?

"Help!" she cries, desperately. "HELP!"

"No one is going to hear you," the voice behind her cuts in, just a faint trace of irritability coloring the otherwise dead tone. "So just be quiet. You're giving me a headache."

"A _headache_?" she barks, incredulous. Then, in a frantic mix of fury and desperation, she swings her leg back, striking the boy's shin, but his step never falters. So she twists in his hold and somehow manages to find his shoulder. She bites down savagely.

And this time she gets a response.

He makes a sharp, pained noise before she feels him release her. As soon as her feet hit the slippery stone, she runs.

She can't see anything, nor can she hear the boy anymore, nor does she know where the sound of running water comes from, how close she is to falling in, but she doesn't care. She takes her chances, and she runs, her hands groping along a jagged wall, her feet testing the ground before her as quickly as she can.

She slips a few times, biting down on her lip to keep from gasping, from making a sound. Her dress gets torn, shredded at the hem, and her feet get cut by the shards of rock that have been sharpened into a knife-like points.

And finally, she trips again, blind and dumb in the oppressive dark, and she twists her ankle. She feels the jolt of fire rip through her muscles, and she presses a hand to her mouth to at least muffle her scream of pain.

Fear courses through her body thickly, like lightening, urging her to stand, to ignore the agony, so she does, only to fall back to the ground again, cutting her knees and palms on the rock this time.

She refuses to be caught again, though, lying so helpless and weak, so she drags herself, crawls, as best she can, as quickly as she can.

And then she sees a small light ahead, a soft blue and orange glow that flickers, and she pulls herself along faster, her breath catching in hope.

She tries to think of her mother. Her mother would never lay in the dark and wait to be stolen again. Her mother would give a fight, and that is exactly what Clary tends to do. She will bite and scratch and tear her way to that light.

Clary manages to find the strength to stand again. She grabs hold of a piece of jutted rock above her, and she pulls herself to her feet and hobbles the rest of the way, until the cave she is in seems to open and swell into a large, dark cavern, with torches standing guard in the walls.

She hovers uncertainly at the mouth of the cavern, grasping at the wall, and then she sees a new face, a young man with shockingly white skin and tumbling, silken black hair, and sapphire blue eyes.

He arches lazy brows at her.

"Help me," she whispers, quickly, the words rushing forth. But she can barely hear herself, for the roar of the water is louder here. She pitches forward, for the young man, but without anything to hold onto, she falls.

And then the man's eyes flicker back up to the mouth of the cavern, and he says, with a slight smirk, "The little girl got away from you, did she?"

Clary's head spins back to find the other boy drifting out of the cave slowly, a soured scowl on his face. His eyes barely flicker to her before he steps simply over her shivering body and heads towards the dark haired young man.

"She bit me," the blond boy says.

The other boy's brows arch again, his lips twisting upward.

"So I decided to let her trip and fall her way here, since she insisted on being so stubborn," the blond boy adds, glancing back over his shoulder at her. "There was nowhere for her to run, anyway."

The dark haired boy nods. "True. Would you like me to collect her, then?"

"No." The blond boy turns to face her once more and jerks his chin up ever so slightly. "Stand up."

Clary sits up as best she can, glaring at him through the sweaty strands of her fallen hair.

"I believe she's hurt her leg," the dark haired boy murmurs.

"I don't care." The blond boy walks towards her, crouches before her, just out of reach, and cocks his head, his empty, endless pale moonlight eyes staring at her. "Stand up."

Clary shakes with barely repressed rage, but she manages, her voice only trembling a little, "No."

The boy arches an eyebrow slowly, uncaringly. "No?" He rests his elbows on his bent knees and regards her calmly for a few heartless moments. And then he tilts his head towards her and whispers, almost sweetly, "I don't particularly relish in the idea of hurting you, little girl. That isn't the reason you're here, and it would only cause me more work."

"Why am I here?" she demands, pushing her hair back from her face, sitting straighter, jutting her chin out—all the things she's seen her mother do to look her most regal and intimidating.

But the slouching, thin boy with the dead face is leagues more terrifying than her, without even trying. He merely shrugs and says, "You are an opportunity for me—to get my revenge. I've been very patient. And now, I'm afraid," he sighs, glancing to the floor for a moment, debating, "my patience wears thin." He's suddenly grasping her arm and standing, yanking her to her feet.

She staggers, accidentally puts weight on her sore ankle, and she cries out despite herself, the volume of pain too great to ignore, too great to keep hot, stinging tears from welling in her eyes.

"Alec, is the boat ready?" the blond boy asks, ignoring Clary's whimpers.

"Yes, my lord," the dark haired boy, Alec, replies, dipping his head before disappearing at the other end of the cavern, dropping out of sight.

"Come along," the blond boy says dully, yanking on her arm.

She hops clumsily on her uninjured foot, barely keeping pace with his long legged stride. And then he grows impatient once more and sighs, wrapping her arm around her waist, lifting her feet from the ground, and carrying her like that, with one arm, across the cavern, as if she weighs nothing.

They walk down stone steps, descending into an even darker cave, where the sound of water grows louder and louder still, until it is almost deafening.

Until it stops altogether.

And a new sound takes its place.

At first, Clary doesn't understand it, but as they move closer to the place where the stone drops away and the water begins, she hears the moans, the groans, the terrifying howls of mournful pain.

She gasps, icy terror climbing up her neck, raising the hairs on her neck, and she squirms against the blond boy's hold, trying to break free, but he refuses to release her this time and instead simply walks closer to the water, to where Alec waits for them in a small, wooden boat.

"Sit," the blond boy orders, tossing Clary carelessly into the dingy, making her glare with fury and pain as she crashes to the floor of the boat, swaying sickeningly with the water.

The blond boy climbs in much more gracefully, and then Alec begins paddling, slowly moving the boat along the river.

Clary grasps the edges of the dingy tightly, her breathing shallow, as the moans take the place of the rush of moving water. Once, because her curiosity gets the best of her, she peeps over the side of the boat, into the water, to find the liquid glowing ever so slightly with cool grace, wispy faces floating to the surface before being pulled back down, over and over again, until Clary jerks back in horror.

Alec notices and grins. "River of the Dead."

"Then you're taking me to the Downworld," Clary says.

Alec's grin widens. "Yes."

"Then…then you're Jace," Clary whispers, glancing sharply back to the blond boy, whom sits and stares down into the mournful waters without a wavering on his expressionless face. "You…you rule the Downworld. Why could you possibly want me?"  
"If you know so much," Jace snaps suddenly, his eyes flashing over to her, freezing her in place, "then you know that it was your beloved father who put me here."

"I…" Clary frowns, her mind working. "I thought that you chose…you chose to be here. You were the Nephilim fascinated by the dead, and you eventually took your own life, to become Ruler of the Downworld—"

"Is that what Valentine says?" Jace asks, disgust seething on his face before he drops back into his lifeless mask and looks back down at the waters. "It does not surprise me."

Clary stares at him, her eyes wide, her mouth opening and closing, so many questions brimming in her mind, along with pleas to return her to her mother that she refuses to ever utter, to ever give him the pleasure of hearing.

Instead, she says, as calmly as she can, "I don't believe you."

"And I don't care," Jace remarks, shrugging, never looking at her, sparking fury within her chest once more. "It's of little consequence what you think."

"_How dare you_?" Clary hisses. "My mother and father _will_ find me—and you."

Jace's lips tilt up in the first tiny smile she's seen him give, but it sends a chill shivering down her spine. He watches the souls in the water for a few painful heartbeats longer before finally glancing up, finally meeting Clary's enraged eyes, and he merely nods, just once. "I hope you are correct."

* * *

**Thoughts? Questions? Comments? Concerns? Anyway, hopefully will be posting a chapter a day. Might (and this is a big MIGHT) post chapter 3 later but I doubt it.**


	4. CHAPTER THREE: The Downworld

**Hey! So, I worked really hard to get this one done for y'all a day early! Someone reviewing for Half Truths said I inspired them originally and then they said that after my last author's note that I obviously didn't give a damn about my readers, which just to be honest, was the worst thing anyone's ever said to me on here, even worse than the person that said I effing sucked. :/ Anyway, I do SO care about my readers! I care for y'all, and I want y'all to know that, dangit! Y'all are precious to me! Y'all complete me! **

**Anyway, someone also mentioned something. They said that wasn't the place Jace rules over supposed to be called the Underworld? Yes! It is. I forgot to mention that I decided to call it the Downworld in this, as a throw back to the original TMI books! I forgot to mention that.**

**And Imogen is in here, too, standing in for Themis, Goddess of Justice. Also, Magnus will be in the story! (: In place of Eros, God of Love (; (; (; - Note that, yes, in fact, those are WINKY faces, as opposed to the regular, less meaningful and suggestive SMILEY face. Cough, cough. Nudge, nudge. Wink, wink.**

**Anyway, y'all enjoy. I hope I haven't made any of y'all feel like I don't care when dealing with Half Truths. If I have, I am so terribly sorry.**

* * *

**CHAPTER THREE: The Downworld**

"You have to do something!" Jocelyn screeches, her voice straining the ears of everyone in the throne room. "You have to find her! You put Jace down there—you know where he is! Go after her! Or better yet, let me. I will teach that dead bastard to never touch that which is ours."

Valentine's mouth is a thin, knife-sharp line, and Maryse sits beside him in her own throne, her face rather passive as she regards the redheaded Nephilim with a slight glint of condescension.

Sebastian breaks in. "Let me go, Father. I will bring back Clarissa."

"I can very well take care of that myself," Jocelyn snaps, glaring over at the black headed boy. "If your father would only let me know where she is."

"That is the problem, I'm afraid," Valentine mutters, shifting in his golden throne, his eyes dark with brewing fury.

"What? How could it be?"

"The Downworld is vast," Michael replies mournfully, shaking his angelic face back and forth, raising his sun eyes to the throne room's arched, mural-painted ceiling. "It is far more vast than even Alicante. Not even I can see all of it, for it is beyond the reach of the sun, and therefore, beyond the reach of my powers."

"So you don't truly know where Jace is, then?" Jocelyn demands, her eyes flickering between Valentine and Michael, whom seem to be sharing a silent conversation of their own, between their eyes alone.

"No," Michael finally answers, decisively but still soft and gentle. "I only knew Jace had surfaced because I saw him in Idris, where the sun touches. The Downworld is his—and his alone. Only he knows all of the caverns. He could be anywhere."

Jocelyn tries desperately to hold onto the rage brimming inside her, but it drains away, ever so slightly, and then all together, leaving nothing but cold hopelessness behind. "Then…then what should we do? You surely do not intend to leave Clary down there, do you?" This she aims at Valentine.

Who glares sharply at her, broken out of his reverie. "Of course not! Do you truly think I will let such a blatant show of disrespect go unpunished?"

"Oh," Jocelyn scoffs, rolling her eyes. "I should have known it was only your pride that was at stake in your own mind."

Valentine's mouth opens, thunder rumbling in his chest, but before he can explode, Michael cuts in again, as lilting and gentile as always, "There is one small problem."

At this, Valentine's eyes slip over frantically to Michael, his head shaking ever so slightly.

"A problem? What?" Jocelyn demands.

"Well," Michael whispers and then is caught in Valentine's warning gaze. He grows quiet before saying, "Perhaps it won't be of relevance, anyway."

"Tell me," Jocelyn orders forcefully, glaring at the sun-bathed Nephilim. "Tell me what it is that bothers you, Michael, tell—"

"Oh, by the Angel," Maryse blows out in an impatient sigh, rolling her dark eyes before locking them with Jocelyn's. "If Jace is smart, which he is, he will bind Clarissa to him."

"Bind her?" Jocelyn cries. "As in marriage?"

"Yes, as in marriage—blood marriage," Maryse replies, her lips twisting in scornful amusement. "He will share his blood with Clarissa, and he will make her share her own blood, and then, even if you were to find her, you could not remove her from the Downworld. It would be unpermitted by the Laws."

"Is this true?" Jocelyn turns her eyes sharply to Valentine.

He inhales deeply, cutting a disdainful look to Maryse, who inspects her nails, before saying, "It is. But Jace has broken Laws himself. I can…I will find away around the bonding rule."

"Your Majesty, if I may, Jace has not broken any of the Laws," Michael says, tilting his head. "He is allowed trips to the surface, only he is not permitted to set foot here, in Alicante. Which he did not do." Michael's brows raise. "And there is no Law forbidding him to take a wife, even by force."

"That is…that is impossible," Valentine growls, the sky and clouds drifting outside the throne room's columns turning dark and electric, crackling with Valentine's rage as he stiffens in his chair. "He cannot steal my daughter away and feel no repercussions!"

Michael bows his head in face of the furious wind that rips through the throne room, but the storm outside rages on until it is dark and the torches are the only things that keep light, light that plays along Valentine's half-shadowed face.

"It will not be permitted! I will not have it!"

"You will have it," comes a strong, ice-cold, commanding voice that cuts through the dangerous air and puts an end to the growing storm.

Immediately, the sky turns blue and the clouds white once more. Peace befalls the throne room, and Valentine sits sharply back into his chair as Imogen moves slowly into view, from behind one of the massive golden columns.

"You will have it, and it will be permitted—unless Jace breaks the Law," Imogen whispers with her voice that is not unlike the crack of a whip.

All the Nephilim, even Maryse, tilt their heads down in brief respect of the woman.

"Imogen, it is my daughter—" Valentine begins.

"And your pride," Imogen replies sharply. "Both are at stake. But do not be a fool, Valentine. This is what Jace wants. He knows that you will not stand for this. He knows that you will the full might of your wrath down upon him, and he knows that it will not be tolerated in the eyes of Justice."

"So he is setting a trap," Michael whispers, a vague smile blossoming across his face as he tilts his head upwards, as if he has seen all the answers painted behind his eyelids. "A beautiful trap."

"Yes, that is my guess," Imogen replies gruffly. "Although the crazy one is much more likely to see the definitive answer to that." She jerks her chin towards Michael, who merely shakes his head, not taking offence to her jab.

"I cannot see him—or Clary. They are beyond my reach in the Downworld."

"Ah." Imogen nods stiffly.

"Then what do you suppose we do?" Jocelyn breaks in hotly. "My daughter is innocent. Does the Law not protect the innocent? Is that not the whole purpose of its existence?"

Imogen's gray eyes are like knifes, jabbing at Jocelyn coldly. "The Law is set forth to keep peace. The Nephilim are powerful, so powerful that we need laws. Laws to keep equality and serenity throughout all worlds. It is what keeps every life in the worlds—even the humans and the smallest of rodents—safe from harm."

"Then we just let my daughter rot away in the Downworld with that monster?" Jocelyn yells.

"Unless _that monster_ breaks one of the Laws, then yes," Imogen growls back.

Jocelyn bristles, ready to attack, when Michael clears his throat slightly, a small smile gracing his delicate features.

"I have a suggestion. A lovely suggestion."

"Then, by all means, let us hear it," Valentine orders.

Michael dips his head, beaming angelically. "Jace is protected by the Laws, but only because he has not put himself on the loosing side of Justice. But all things can change, especially with a gentle nudge in the right direction."

Jocelyn's brows arch. "Well?"

Michael smiles again. "We merely trick Jace into breaking one of the Laws."

* * *

Clary's eyes widen in horror at the huge wooden doors they float towards.

A platform awaits, massive torches lighting the way with a wicked, laughing orange glow. Statues of the most grotesque creatures, monsters, stand guard at the doors, frozen in terrifying menace, teeth gnashed and claws extended.

Clary sinks back into the boat as they drift closer, and then Alec is tying them to the platform and leaping out gracefully.

Jace climbs out, as well, and doesn't pause to look back at Clary as he stalks forward, hunched as if walking against a strong, frigid wind.

It is Alec who remains by the boat and offers her a hand. "Perhaps you need some assistance."

"I can assist myself," Clary remarks coldly and forces herself to stand. She barely manages to crawl from the boat, but she does get to the cold, wet stone of the platform without once taking Alec's hand.

"Stubborn, I see," Alec remarks with a smirk and then reaches down, grabbing her arm, and hauling her to her feet against her will.

She bites down, hard, on her bottom lip to keep from screaming out in agony at the fire that tears through her ankle.

"Here, put your arm around me," Alec urges her with a low, unintimidating voice, arching his brows at her innocently.

But she sees the slight upturn to his lips and glares. "I'd rather hop."

"Fine," Alec replies, throwing his hands up and then grinning, his eyes dark and terrifying. "Do whatever you please, milady." He drops into a mocking bow and then meanders towards the doors, where Jace stands.

Clary watches as Jace's head tilts upwards, as his left arm extends and presses solidly against the door. Cold colored lines light up and scroll over the doors rapidly, like vines, climbing and twisting and spinning in some language foreign to Clary and it makes her dizzy. And then the lines climb up Jace's arm, the one he has pressed to the door, and they climb up higher, all over him, the icy light burning through even his clothes, and there's a rush of wind that takes Clary's breath and makes her eyes close.

And then, with a feeling of slight disappointment, she opens them again to see she's missed what happened and now the doors hang open and Jace's skin is pale and unmarked once more.

"Get her," Jace orders Alec dully before disappearing into the doors.

Alec sighs, as if burdened, and walks back over to Clary, grabbing her, swinging her up in his arms and carrying her towards the opened gate.

"Put me down," she orders, enraged.

"You _hop_ too slowly, milady," is Alec's amused reply.

Clary's response is silenced in awe of the arched tunnel they enter, so large that each sound echoes and reverberates as if yelling into the sky. Alec caries her down the curving steps slowly, and they descend and descend and descend until finally joining with Jace again as he pushes open two more doors.

"Welcome to the Downworld," Alec whispers playfully as he carries Clary into the new world, her eyes going wide with horror and wonder as she takes in the open, expansive cavern they stand in.

Alec walks her down a wide platform, seeming suspended above an endless pit, and bone chandeliers, larger than houses, hang from the towering ceiling, glowing with blue, flickering light, casting strange shadows on the stone walls. Papers of all different shapes and sizes blow in the wind coming from the pit, the wind that is cold and stale and carries with it a mournful howl, and Clary finds that it is more than just papers blowing about, but items—stuffed animals, jewelry, articles of clothing, coins.

"Why?" Clary whispers, her hair whipped into her face by the gale.

"Things dead people have brought with them, believing them important. But they find, once you are dead, nothing matters anymore, and here, their personal affects are left behind, their dreams forgotten," Alec announces, almost subdued.

Clary turns her head towards Jace, who walks ahead of them, his lean body still slumped, and they make their way across the stretch of platform, to large steps that go up and up and up until the wind dies away, and they are in a hall held by skeletal black columns with shadowy darkness moving between them, hiding whatever lies on the other side.

Clary shivers as she hears hisses and moans rumbling from the inky black, but then they arrive in a new room, a grand room with many more of the bone chandeliers, casting their strange blue light over a gnarled and blackened throne, that which Jace collapses in, seemingly too tired to do anything else. He sighs and props his chin on his hand, closing his eyes for a moment.

And then someone is drifting out from a hall that branches off the throne room, a beautiful someone with a shock of pale snow skin and jet-black hair that hangs all the way to her ankles, almost.

The girl moves vaguely, like smoke, her black dress moving around her hypnotically, and she comes upon Alec with a curious expression on her elegant face. "This is Jocelyn's daughter?"

"You know my mother?" Clary asks quickly, struggling against Alec, trying to make him release her.

Alec ignores her and answers the girl. "Yes, it is."

"What happened to her? Can't she walk?" the girl inquires, arching dark brows.

"She hurt her ankle, I believe—running from Jace," Alec says, a smirk in his voice.

Clary struggles more determinedly to free herself from his hold.

The girl scoffs and then comes to stand in front of Clary, grasping the young girl's chin with an icy hand that smells of herbs and powders. Her black eyes are endless pits Clary gets a bit caught in as the girl leans down and says, "Running from Jace. What a silly thing to do." Then the girl looks away, setting Clary free of the spell of dark eyes, and the girl asks Alec, "Do you think I should heal her leg, then?"

"No," is the sudden response of Jace, drawing all three sets of eyes towards him on his throne.

His own eyes are open now, colorless and cold as he stares at Clary, his cheek propped against his hand. "I don't want her running off anywhere. She could fall in and never resurface, and I cannot worry about babysitting a child at the moment."

Clary's cheeks flush with hot anger, but as her lips part to find a retort, Jace holds up a lazy hand to silence her.

"I know, you aren't a child," he remarks dully. "You are the daughter of Jocelyn and Valentine, and they will find you, and so forth and so on." He sighs, bored with it all.

The black headed girl smirks a bit and then inquires, "Should I go get the things ready, then, my lord?"

"Yes," Jace sighs again, pushing himself into a standing position once more. "I should complete the bond now before something else can happen."

The dark headed girl bows her head and then drifts away, once more like smoke, leaving only her strange scent behind.

"Put her down, Alec," Jace says, motioning.

So Alec sits Clary on a dark blue divan that smells of dust and mildew, and Clary looks over at Jace with her big, innocent green eyes narrowed. "Bond?"

"Please refrain from asking such obvious questions," Jace mumbles, running a hand over his face. "They are so tiresome to answer."

"You have brought me here against my will, stolen me from my mother, my land, _my home_, and pulled me into this hell, and you expect me to _follow_ your condescending, ridiculous orders?" Clary bursts, disbelief and disgust dripping from her voice, her heart pounding in anger.

But Jace merely nods and says, "Yes."

Clary opens her mouth, shaking with almost-hysteria, when Jace adds, softly, "If you would only use your head, you would understand. Or perhaps you are too dim-witted to know, although Alec assures you me you have a rather average capacity for deeply intellectual thought."

"She does," Alec says with a grin.

Clary glares between the both of them, her mind furiously turning, working, trying desperately to prove both of the bastards she can, indeed, understand—without their damned help.

And finally, it dawns on her.

Although she wishes it hadn't.

And she feels the blood run from her face, from her body, and leave her cold and pale and shivering.

* * *

**Ugh. I'm really having a hard time liking Clary right now. I just don't know how to write a damsel in distress without making her blahhhhhh. Anyway, she'll get better, as soon as the whole kidnapping thing really sinks in. She'll get more badass, I promise.**

**Goodnight/good morning to everyone! Have a great rest of the week! It is officially Hump Day here, so three more days of the torture that is school! HUZZAH!**

**Oh wait, one more thing. I will respond to all reviews (AH! So many and I'm sooooo excited) and messages tomorrow. I just remembered I have a big block of reading I was supposed to do like...uh, two days ago but with my rabbit trauma, it's gotten lost in the shuffle! Anyway, I apologize profusely! Don't quit me now, y'all! I love hearing from y'all! I respond back, I promise! **


	5. CHAPTER FOUR: Bonding

**Hey, y'all! I'm in a rush (going out to eat) but should get Chapter 5 up later tonight! Excuse all the typos! Enjoy! (:**

* * *

**CHAPTER 4: Bonding**

Jocelyn sits at the edge of the dark pool, watching as the lilies drift on the glassy surface. Somehow, the flowers seem dull, lifeless, wilting—as if Clary's presence was what kept them beautiful all these years and now they mourn her loss, just as Jocelyn does.

She inhales deeply and her gaze flickers up to the starry night sky, clear and breathlessly beautiful, the kind of night Clary would have gone on and on about, but all Jocelyn sees when she looks up there is Valentine—Valentine and all the others and their plans and their plotting and their vicious webs of lies and their inability to bring her daughter back to her _now_.

"Jocelyn."

She jerks, her head snapping over to peep behind her shoulder, where Valentine stands, surprisingly pale and ghostly in the moonlight. Slowly, he drifts over, takes the seat beside her, and he's much too close, almost touching her leg with his, so she leans away, arching her brows.

Valentine gives the smallest hint of a smile and lets out a hollow laugh. "You never were one for subtly—or respect, for that matter."

Jocelyn scowls slightly. "I only give my respect to those who earn it."

Valentine chuckles a bit and looks away from her, to the moonlit pool with the dying lilies. "Perhaps that is why I was so taken with you."

Jocelyn scoffs, looking to the pool, as well. "You were only taken with me because you were not supposed to have me—and the moment you did, your interest was no more."

"You speak as if I severed our ties, Jocelyn, when I remember specifically that it was _your_ interest that died—as soon as you found you were pregnant."

Jocelyn shakes her head, refusing to look at him, even as she feels his gaze shift back to her. "I knew better than to think I would have any kind of life with you—a respectable one, that is. But when I knew I was to have a child, I wanted better for her. It is only natural. And I knew, too, that she would only be treated as a bastard by the likes of Maryse and the others because to them, that is what she is. I wouldn't have that. I would hope you could at least understand that."

"You didn't even ask me," Valentine says, suddenly, his sentence nearly running into Jocelyn's own. "You didn't ask me what I thought of you leaving. You simply stole away in the middle of the night and came here, to your earthly palace. Michael had to tell me."

"I didn't need to ask your opinion," Jocelyn sniffs. "She was my child."

"Not yours solely, Jocelyn, you seem to forget that. I did have a part in her creation, if you'll remember."

"I remember," Jocelyn says, a bit too quickly, the words tumbling out of her mouth like an avalanche, sudden and unstopped, leaving behind a chaotic mess. She feels the desire to wince in embarrassment, but she has not gotten embarrassed in a very long time and she's rusty. So she merely looks over at Valentine, her brows raised in challenge, a display meant to hide her blunder.

Valentine simply sighs. "I know you are upset with me, but I never knew why, Jocelyn. I never did understand you."

Jocelyn looks back at the pool, with Valentine, and she muses for a moment before saying, "Perhaps that is the true reason why you ever were intrigued by me. You always hated a mystery."

Valentine sighs again. "Won't you tell me then and relieve me of the burden of not knowing? What was it that I did to turn you away from me? To make you take our child, too, without even discussing it with me? It isn't as if I couldn't protect Clary. I would have made her life beautiful, would have given her anything—"

"You would have spoiled her," Jocelyn announces.

"And you have not?" he counters.

Jocelyn presses her lips together in irritation. "I have made her strong. It might be the only thing that keeps her safe while she is…while she is below the surface."

"You never answered my question."

Jocelyn looks at him sharply, her face beautiful and severe in the moonlight, and she says, coolly, "And I don't intend to, either. Some mysteries are meant to stay unknown."

* * *

"I will not let you do this," Clary whispers heatedly, glaring up at Jace.

They are alone now. Alec left them to help the dark haired girl gather whatever was needed for their infernal ritual, and the room grows colder, Clary notices, the air sucking desperately at the warmth of her skin, leaving her to shiver ever so slightly.

Jace doesn't look at her, but the ghost of a smile appears on his narrow mouth as he leans against one of the twisted, gnarled black columns that support the arched ceiling.

"I suppose you do not believe there is much I can do," Clary goes on, her eyes burning furiously at him, trying with all her might to at least make him feel the heat of her stare, the weight of her rage. "But I swear on my mother, I will make your pathetic, disgusting little life more infinitely painful than you thought possible. I will do everything in my power to make you more miserable than you already are, to show you what a grievous mistake you've made in bringing me down here against my will."

Jace's head tilts back, resting against the column, too, and his lips turn up vaguely once more. "You are very much like your mother, I see. Isabelle is right. Jocelyn must be proud in knowing she has created such a perfect clone of herself."

"You know my mother, too?"

"I knew them all, little girl," Jace says, darkly, his face growing shadowed as he glares over at her. "Once upon a time."

"Then are you to say now that my mother had some part in throwing you down here?" Clary asks, her voice flippant and careless, but seething with disgust, too.

"I do not know. I don't know how deep their betrayal runs," Jace murmurs, hardly put off by Clary's show of attitude.

"So you feel betrayed, and to seek revenge, you betray another—an innocent young girl who has never—" Clary begins, hotly, but breaks off when Jace is before her, grasping her chin roughly, making her gasp in shock as his icy cold hand pulls the warmth from her body sharply, sharply enough to make her teeth chatter.

His face is angry and twisted, his eyes burning beneath the dimness, simmering with old fire, and he glares at her as he whispers, his voice terrifying sweet, "Innocent? Perhaps you have the rest of the world fooled, but it takes darkness to see darkness—and I see it in you. I see it in those pretty little green eyes, just waiting to be unleashed. So perhaps you are innocent in body, but not in spirit, little girl." He jerks her chin once, accenting his words. "And I have not betrayed you, either. Nor do I care about you. So if your plan of attack is to make me feel empathy towards you, you are only wasting your breath and my time."

Clary stares up at him, feeling more of her warmth drained away at his touch, as if he is sucking her dry, and she is too cold to respond.

"And I know how you and your mother talk to Valentine, with blatant disrespect, and he allows it—but I will not," Jace hums, his voice a low note of cool warning, more terrifying than a shout ever had been. "You will address me in the way which is fitting to my position, if you are to address me at all. Which I would prefer you didn't."

Clary trembles violently but still manages a glare at him, even as her lips turn blue. "W-w-whatever you'd p-p-prefer, _my lord_," she says, with as much hatred and mocking acid as she can manage.

Jace merely gives a small smile, like that of a knife, and he releases her roughly and warmth once again flows back into her.

Alec and the dark haired girl reappear with two nearly identical, pale, hunched and desolate looking men trailing behind them, serving to carry a black, ancient looking table.

"Sit it here," the dark haired girl orders offhandedly, not bother to glance back at the men with shaky toothpick arms.

They sit the table down carefully and then melt back into the shadows with a wave of the dark haired girl's hand. And Alec is setting things on the table—a massive shiny black bowl and dried herbs and candles and a dusty tome that crackles when opened.

"Is all this necessary, Isabelle?" Jace sighs, dull once more as he surveys the candles the dark haired girl—Isabelle—takes it upon herself to light.

"This is my spell," Isabelle sniffs. "I shall do it as I have always done it, for thousands of years now."

Jace merely rolls his eyes. Alec, Clary notices, smirks.

"My darlings!"

The shout is sudden and ringing, making Clary jump, but the others seem relatively unaffected as a shockingly tall, lean, devastatingly handsome man appears into the throne room in a flash of colors and coats and gaudy printed fabrics. His lovely, feline eyes are narrowed ever so slightly, his lips pulled into a wry smile, his gait confident and slow as he drifts closer.

"Where is she? Where is Valentine's little bastard child?'

"Right here," Alec announces, still smirking as he comes to stand behind Clary and grasp her shoulders. His hands are infinitely less cold than Jace's. "Isn't she precious?"

The new man comes over gracefully and bends slightly at his narrow waist, grabbing Clary's chin much more carefully than Jace. But she still glares at him, which only makes him smile. "She is rather precious, I agree. And quite beautiful, too, like her mother. Perhaps you will fall madly in love with her, Jace, as you keep her prisoner down here. What a sordid tale that would make."

Jace looks aggressively disgusted, but remains quiet as he watches Isabelle continue to flit around the dark table.

"Ah. He does not choose to dignify that with a response," the man murmurs and then his eyes flicker above Clary's head, to Alec, as he adds, "Perhaps I've hit a nerve?"

"Perhaps," Alec plays along.

"Magnus, why are you here?" Jace asks tiredly, leaning back against one of the black columns once more.

"I had to see Jocelyn's daughter, to see if you'd really done it—stolen her away from her bright world and childlike innocence," Magnus murmurs, batting his lashes dramatically.

Jace's eyes flicker to Clary's slightly, subtly, but she still sees the quick up tilt of his lips before he says, to Magnus, "I told you I would do it, and it was done—without a hitch."

"Although Jocelyn and Valentine almost caught up to him," Alec cuts in, grinning again as he drifts to Clary's side. She watches him buzz with slight excitement sparking in his deep blue eyes. "It was all very dramatic."

"It sounds as if it was," Magnus allows. "I would bet all my favorite clothes that that nosy Michael bastard saw you coming, Jace."

Jace shrugs, still watching as Isabelle works at her table. "It doesn't matter either way. He can't see us down here."

"True. One of the many reasons I like this place so much," Magnus chirps, beaming. He swivels his gaze back to Clary and waggles his eyebrows. "Perhaps you will come to love this place, too, once you and Jace are married. Tell me, where do you plan to go for the honeymoon? There's a beautiful little hellhole in the East, where the sky is orange and you can hear the wails of the eternally damned. It seems like the perfect spot to me. Very romantic."

"I would think the Pit would be a more suitable honeymoon destination," Alec pipes up, his arms crossed over his chest, a grin on his face. "With the screams of agony and the stench of rotting flesh."

"Hm," Magnus says, pretending to debate it.

"Be quiet," Jace mutters but his voice rings with enough sense of order and finality to make them both sober slightly.

"It's ready," Isabelle announces proudly, spinning towards them, her black, wispy skirt ghosting over the floor. "You two," she snaps, pointing at Magnus and Alec, "get out of the way."

They move to the side and allow Isabelle to walk forward, the black bowl in her slim, pale arms. As she draws closer, Clary smells something inside it, something strong and dark and dusky, and Isabelle reaches in, taking a pinch of the herbs she's mixed between her fingers and then dusting it to the ground between Jace and Clary. She does this thirteen times—Clary counts—and then the bowl is sat aside.

"Take this," she says to Jace, a bone handled, wicked knife flashing in her grasp, and he removes it from her. "Now, make an incision in your left palm."

Clary watches in still horror as he holds his hand out, and without a flinch, slices open his palm, dark crimson oozing thickly from the gash. The liquid is darker than any blood Clary has ever seen before, and she fights the urge to cringe back, away from the unnatural, but then Isabelle is grabbing Clary's left wrist roughly, jerking her arm out, extending it.

"Cut her hand with it," Isabelle says.

"No," Clary protests, trying to draw her arm back, but Isabelle's dark eyes flash into hers, stilling her. Clary feels her body grow stony, unmoving, while her heartbeat turns frantic, horrified at the loss of control, at her inability to twist away from Isabelle's cool, dry grasp. "Let go of me!" Clary cries.

But Isabelle doesn't respond, and then Clary feels the sharp press and sickly pull of the blade against her palm and gasps, looking up at Jace as he meticulously cuts her.

"Put your palms together," Isabelle says.

And then Jace is grasping Clary's bleeding hand with his, and Isabelle murmurs something in a language Clary has never heard before, a language like a cracking whip that makes the blue flames in the bone chandeliers burn brighter and brighter and brighter, and Clary winces and a cold, howling wind whips through the throne room suddenly, blowing out the candles finally, pulling at hair and clothes.

In the fray, Clary's eyes break free of Isabelle's, and she can move again, and she tries to pull away from Jace, but his grip is like that of a statue's—cold and unbreakable—and she feels hopelessly well up inside her, chilling her just as the screaming wind chills her, and she can only turn her head, away from all of them, the gale blowing her hair against her face for cover, as she cries.

* * *

**I shall respond to everyone later! Y'all are the best people...EVER!**


	6. CHAPTER FIVE: Summons

**Hey, y'all! Ok, so y'all will notice the chapters are gonna get a little shorter. That's only because it's a mind thing for me. When I know I have only 4 pages to write in Word instead of 6, it helps me get it done faster and be less overwhelmed. So that will mean, most likely, y'all will get more chapters, over all!**

**Anyway, I'm about to pass dead out. So tomorrow I will read all reviews and messages and respond to everyone. Sorry I'm so lame! Ugh. But I had to babysit my twin baby cousins this weekend, and I've been stressed. And now I'm pooped! So please forgive me once more! And enjoy! (:**

* * *

**CHAPTER FIVE: Summons**

"There. It's done."

Isabelle's words ring in Clary's ears for a moment, hanging in her muddled brain, slowly sinking downward and twisting her stomach. Clary sits up as Jace drops her hand limply, and she surreptitiously wipes her face, refusing to look up at any of them.

"Good," Jace's voice replies. "Show her to her room, Alec." And then there are footsteps, and he's gone.

* * *

Her room, Clary finds, is a cave only lit by a few candles and only furnished with a rickety old bed and a dusty bedside table.

Alec sets her on the bed, much to her disgrace, and then he grins. "You are not to leave this room until one of us comes to fetch you, understood?"

Clary merely glares sulkily up at him.

Alec chuckles as if her anger delights him. "The door locks so you will have no way of escaping, anyway. And remember, there are things much worse than Jace and I down here, little girl. You'll do well to keep this in mind." And with that, Alec takes a bow and leaves her.

She hears the final click of the lock in the door.

And then she lies down on the bed that is lumpy but still soft, and she stares up at the low cave roof, watching as the orange flames of the candles dance along the rough rock, casting furious shadows.

Clary cries then, not big, bursting sobs, but silent and hot tears that gently stream down her face and pat-pat-pat on the bed covers. She folds her hands neatly against her stomach and lies motionless, staring upwards, wondering if her mother is somewhere above head, having in luck in finding her.

Clary tries to think of what Jocelyn would do, were she in the situation, and she can only think of her mother being strong, as strong as possible—and never stupid.

It would be ignorant of her to somehow find a way out of the room and wander the carnivorous hell that's she finds herself in. She knows Alec is not lying when he said there were things worse than Jace in the Downworld—Clary had heard some of their hisses and growls in the dark as she was led to her room.

So she won't try to escape.

Instead, she'll just wait.

She'll wait.

She gain someone's trust—Alec's or Isabelle's or Magnus's, or if there is no other option, Jace's—and then, she will find a way to free herself.

Jocelyn is brash, harsh. She says what she feels, without filter. And although Clary can't remember a time when her and her mother have not been compared to twins, Clary knows there is one thing that sets them apart, the thing that Clary usually despises—her gentleness.

There is a part of Clary that is softer, sweeter than her mother. It has to be this way for the flowers to respond to her, to bloom under her touch. She knows how to coax and pour sunrays and speak softly, when she needs to.

And that is just what she'll do.

She'll wait.

* * *

Jace has long since given up on the idea of sleep.

But he has found that if he stares up at the ceiling in his chambers for a long enough time, and works aggressively to clear his mind, he can fall into a beautifully numb sense of hibernation, in which he will look up with open eyes and no thoughts and he will remember faintly what is like to have peace.

But his time is interrupted.

First by old thoughts that flash into his head in unwarranted bursts he cannot see coming, so he cannot stop—flashes of hair and golden smiles that make him warm all over, but only in his memories for now he is cold—always cold and hungry and thirsty and tired but never able to alleviate the anguish of any of the ailments.

And then he is interrupted by Isabelle, who knocks furiously on his door.

"Come in," he mumbles.

And she does, bringing with her the scent of powders and herbs. She says, "Valentine reached out through the Portals." Then she pauses, perhaps for anticipation or perhaps because she doesn't know how Jace will take her next words, but what she says makes him smile for the first time in a long time. She says, "He's asked for a summons with you."

* * *

The Portal is in Isabelle's cluttered quarters, and Jace has to side step drying herbs hanging from the ceiling and piles of old spell books and he has to take great care to keep his elbows by his sides for fear of knocking over any of the explosive or dangerous little bottles lying about on most every surface.

But finally he arrives at the glimmering black pool. The waters sit a bowl, wait high, and as Jace peers in, he watches as the glassy surfaces seems to move and pulse underneath, as if the surface is only a black piece of silk and beneath are _things_, moving and writhing, pushing their hands and feet against the fabric.

Jace nods at Isabelle and she swipes her hand over the bowl and the waters shimmer once before morphing into Valentine's face, his back to a crystalline blue sky that, despite all these many years, still makes Jace's stomach lurch with pain.

But he merely smiles, ever so slightly, to Valentine and nods his head at him in acknowledgement.

"Jace," Valentine grinds out.

"I suppose you've summoned me to threaten my existence and so forth and so on," Jace drawls deadly. "But I would rather you just plead with me for your daughter's return."

"Would you return her, if I were to beg?" Valentine asks, his brows pulled down low over his thunderous eyes.

"No," Jace says wistfully. "But I would enjoy your groveling very much."

"Jace, she is not involved in this."

"Well, she is now," Jace replies, shrugging carelessly.

His cavalier attitude only further darkens Valentine's eyes with fury. "She is innocent in all this. She has nothing to do with what I have done to you."

"No," Jace says, drawing the word out, letting it hover in the air carefully. "But she serves still as a good way to hurt you. I have long since dismissed any of the naive codes of honor I held to in my youth. Her innocence in this matters to me not, really, so long as I can use her to my advantage."

"Then what would you have me do to win her back?" Valentine asks in a snap of cold syllables.

"Nothing," Jace replies, shrugging once more. "I do not intend to give her back—ever."

The sky behind Valentine grows stormy, as does his face, and his words rumble as he demands, "Never?"

"Never ever," Jace chimes sweetly.

"What use for her would you have?" Valentine shouts.

Jace gives him a wicked smile. "Oh, I am quite sure I can find _something_ to with her. Or _to_ her. It all depends on my mood, you see. But you need not worry about her. Too much. I will take good care of her. She's my wife now, after all."

Lightening strikes behind Valentine, a yellow crack forming briefly in the clouds. "You bonded with her, then."

"Yes, of course. And now she's mine."

"She'll never be yours."

"I think the Laws would disagree. Once a couple is bonded, they are together for all eternity. Their bond supersedes all others, even a parent's."

"You _will_ give her back to me," Valentine roars, but in a subtly strong way, like the currents in the sea.

"You don't really think orders will change my mind, do you?"

Valentine's fury can almost be felt through the Portal. "We will find you, Jace."

"Then I look forward to it." Jace smiles and then leans closer to the cool surface of the water, arching his brows gently as he whispers, "And in the meantime, reflect on how it feels to lose that which you love, to see it snatched away from you, and to feel the agony of knowing there is nothing in the worlds that you can do to get it back."

Valentine's face contorts into an explosion of rage, but Jace swipes his hand across the cold water, distorting the image, washing it away until it is a black pool once more.

* * *

**Jace and Clary will have more interactions coming up. And maybe she'll get under his skin enough to get a little more emotion out of him. Maybe (: Night night everyone! **


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